We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature
It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.
The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.
He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.
Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.
In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?
He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply